


Burn it Down

by anticipatewrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 00:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15036425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticipatewrites/pseuds/anticipatewrites
Summary: Sam and Dean finally find a balance between hunting and the apple pie life they have always wanted. Largely due to a very special woman and her two kids. When it all comes crashing down around them can they figure out how to keep going?





	Burn it Down

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: This is a pretty dark story, I'm not gonna lie. Please heed the warnings. I'm gonna rip your heart out and then stuff it back in. Ya ready?
> 
> Warnings: suicide, graphic violence, arson, very very sad boys, a very bloody awful scene. If any of that sounds terrible, please keep on cruisin'!

Burn it Down

 

The door slammed in his face and he heard the Impala roar to life on the other side, tires squealing as his brother escaped the only kind of fight he wouldn't run headlong into… the emotional kind.  
“Dean!” Sam shouted at no one. “Why are you like this??!!” He knows better than anybody on Earth (or heaven or hell or purgatory) why his brother does the things he does. Doesn't make his heart break any less.  
Dean is spiraling. Serious tailspin with a side of nosedive. He's never taken loss well, holding it all in until he cracks down the middle and turns the nearest piece of furniture into kindling with his bare hands. This time is different, though. The sheer and utter horror of the thing. And it was Sam’s fault. It's always Sam’s fault. Goddamnit, how many times is he gonna let his brother down? He remembers, once, sitting in a broken down and abandoned church, confessing his greatest sin to whoever was up there listening. He remembers, ‘Ain't no me if there ain't no you.’ He remembers feeling his big brother's light shining on him, so much stronger than the one emanating from his hands, and feeling something akin to redemption. That was all gone now, though.  
Sam ran a hand through his hair and he sighed at the aching pit in his stomach. Wandering aimlessly through the dimly lit halls of the bunker, lost in thought and drenched in guilt, until he found himself in the one place he felt like he deserved to be. The dungeon.  
He sits down on the cold metal chair in the center of the room, remembering when Dean had sat here with black eyes. Sam had saved his brother then. Resting his elbows on his knees, he cradles his face in his hands. The copper-bitter zest of blood makes its way to his nose. There had been so much blood. He could still picture, with perfect clarity, Dean, on hands and knees, scrubbing the old concrete. Trying desperately to erase the evidence of what he had had to do, knowing that he never could. Dry-eyed and vacant, he had scrubbed and washed and mopped until his hands were cracked and bleeding. Sam could only watch. He didn't dare distract Dean from his task for fear of watching his brother crumble right there before him. The explosion still hasn't come yet, though it is terrible in its inevitability.  
So Sam had tried to talk it through. Tried to help him release some of that building pressure before it broke Dean apart. Didn't work, of course. He wonders where his brother is now. Probably drinking and driving too fast. Dean is reckless in his sorrow. 

\------------------------------

“Hey, Dean.”  
“Heya, sweetheart.”  
Sam has watched this scene play out at least a dozen times before. Sometimes makes him feel like he's reliving the longest Tuesday of his life. But, he has to admit, the smile that Dean smiles when they come here every two weeks is not only one that he's never seen before, but one that makes his heart happy for his brother.  
Dean sits down in her barber chair, lifts his chin as she drapes him with her black cape.  
“The usual?” She asks him as she runs her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck. Sam swears he can almost hear his brother purring, leaning into her touch.  
“Always the same, darlin’,” he says. But Sam knows that's not what he means. It's almost too intimate between them to watch. Not overtly sexual on his part, nor unprofessional on hers. It's just the easy way that they move around each other. Sam always feels like the third wheel. When they're able to, Dean drags them here every fortnight. Claims he's getting too shaggy. Or, dammit, if Sam won't let him take a machete to ‘that mop’ at least let her work her magic. Six months of this and Sam has lost all patience with their little game.  
“Why don't you just ask her out, Dean? Y'all are obviously crazy about each other. I don't need my hair cut so often. And watching her cut your hair is like watching the first part of some bad porn…”  
“Sammy, mind your business. She's good at what she does and… well… she doesn't deserve our life. Gotta career and a couple a kids and they don't need what comes with us. Gotta take what I can get…”

Sam didn't mind his business. And one day while he was trying to avert his eyes from the obvious display of affection going on in the barber’s chair, he happened upon her service menu hanging above the reception desk. Noticing the grease and other unmentionables under his brother's fingernails, he suggested the manicure option. Dean thought that was a fantastic idea. It led to the longest hand massage the world has ever seen. And the first date Sam had been waiting for. 

She ended up being the one who asked Dean out. He just couldn't resist. They were like cinnamon and sugar. Like ice cream and hot summer days. Like taking a nap on a Sunday afternoon during a rainstorm. Like fitting the last piece into a puzzle. Dean had been worried about her kids liking him. He shouldn't have. Sam had never seen two kids that were closer to their mama. They loved who she loved. And she loved Dean. He lit up like a Christmas tree whenever they were around. The brothers started hunting less. Maybe that was a mistake.  
He didn't want to, but Sam fell in love with her kids too. Started offering to babysit on date nights. He thought he'd just suffer through, for Dean's sake, but he laughed every time her seven year old daughter, Isabelle, kicked his ass in Yahtzee. And her five year old son, Colin, had an insatiable curiosity for how things work. They had never had a real father and they looked up to Sam in a way that made his heart swell. Maybe he could finally understand his and Dean’s relationship a little bit better. 

Honestly, neither of the brothers had ever been happier. Their family had grown by three. Hunts became fewer and farther between. They were all content. Dean wore a permanent smile. Sam fell in love with her too, truth be told. Not like Dean, mind you, but she was so full of joy. They'd never seen a mother love her children like she loved Isabelle and Colin. And she loved them too. Took care of them in a way they'd never been cared for before. She was lover, mother, wife, friend. The three of them were a glue that gave both of the Winchesters some semblance of a real life. Gave them purpose again. 

It was June 2nd when Dean asked Sam to go ring shopping with him. Not long after that they went house shopping. Wanting something big enough for all five of them, not tainted by lore and darkness and death. They found it on the 22nd. A two story farmhouse surrounded by twenty acres of farmland. Pool in the backyard and an apple orchard. Sam worked long and hard forging the paper trail it took to get financing on the place. It was worth it, though, watching those kids move out of their dingy apartment into rooms of their very own. In the afternoons Sam taught them how to swim while Dean and his girl walked through the orchard, choosing the perfect apples for the pie that she would make with dinner. They were halcyon days, and he shoulda known they couldn't last. 

Sam's mind swam, remembering the smiles and laughter. Colin learning how to do a cannonball, just to annoy his sister. Isabelle dragging him to Walmart to buy a giant unicorn float that all three of them could fit on. He had felt joy in a way that he had never experienced. They drew him pictures ‘for Uncle Sammy. I love you’ that he had put on the fridge. Isabelle drew horses and Colin drew cars. ‘This one is the best one I've ever done! And it's for you, Uncle Sammy!’ Isabelle squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and leaving a sloppy kiss on his cheek.’It's amazing! I will treasure it forever!’ He had said, with sincerity, before using the magnets to secure it to the stainless steel fridge. Just then, Colin walked in, dripping all over the floor, “Where does the water go when it goes down the drain?” He asked. And Sam spent the next half hour explaining how the sewer systems worked. Those kids had had so much potential. So smart. So loving. So trusting. He had let them down in the worst possible way. He never told them about the things that went bump in the night. Never shoved a revolver under their pillows as his father had. This whole time he had blamed John Winchester for taking away his childhood, for robbing him of his innocence, when really he and Dean were the ones responsible for the loss of innocence. For the loss of lives yet to be fulfilled. And all in the name of joy. It's not like they didn't know what was out there. They just thought they could protect them. They were wrong. 

The brothers got a call. Vampires. Ten miles outside of town. It was a milk run. They'd be home before dinner. Machetes packed away in the trunk of the Impala, Sam and Dean kissed their family goodbye. For the last time. It was a trap, of course. Misdirection. They got Isabelle first. She turned Colin. He fed off of his mother. Dean got a text: ‘It's bad, honey. You need to come back now. We're at the bunker.’

Dean's Baby had never gone faster. Sam looked over at his brother in the driver's seat. Of all the shit they had been through, he'd never seen Dean’s hands shake. He was sweating. A low whine coming from his throat. When they reached the bunker he didn't even pause long enough to let the doors open. Crashed right through. Dean threw it in park and fled before he even cut the engine. Sam followed his brother, racing through the bunker's corridors, panic thick in the air. The staleness in the dungeon was heavy with the scent of iron. Isabelle and Colin had fed. From their mother. They couldn't be saved. Sam's heart fell through the floor when he realized what that meant. 

She had restrained her own children. They were gnashing their newly formed fangs, chained to the eye bolt in the corner of the room. Dean looked at his brother with a horrible desperation in his eyes. Then his gaze shifted to his girl, huddled against the wall, body wracked with sobs. She had been with the Winchesters long enough to know what she was facing. ‘Do it, Dean,’ she sobbed, ‘I can't. They fed. It's over.’ 

He turned to Sam, tears running down his face. In that moment he knew his brother was never gonna come back to him. His only saving grace was that maybe they could save Dean's girl. She hadn't fed and could take the cure. Maybe they could find some sort of redemption in each other. Sam gripped his machete. Ready to spare his brother at least this one horror. But Dean’s eyes locked on to him and silently he shook his head. ‘It's gotta be me.’

Dean's face turned stony, blocking out his fiancée’s sobs. He did what he had to do. Sam had never seen his brother wretch and gag after a kill. Dean staggered over to the wall, leaning his head against the cool concrete. Then they heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. She had the Colt pressed up against her temple. Tears ran in rivulets down her face. ‘I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so so sorry. I love you with all of my being, but I can't live without them.’

It was like time was moving in slow motion. Sam heard his brother scream. It was the sound of loss. The sound of heartbreak. And the sound of the Colt going off for the last time. In all of the years that they had possessed the weapon it had killed demons and monsters and alphas. Had been their ally. And now it was their worst enemy. 

‘NO!!!!!’ Dean screamed, and he fell to his knees in the blood of her children. His family. Sam had never seen his brother in such utter despair. Dean emptied the contents of his stomach onto the old concrete floor, mingling with the life's blood of his chosen family. 

They burned them together that night. A huge pire. When Sam put the flame to the logs, it felt like he was burning a piece of his brother. Dean just stood there with empty eyes, hands limp at his sides. He had never looked smaller. This man who had saved Heaven and Hell and the whole fucking world, who deserved so much more than this, just stood there. Sam felt like his brother was burning with their family. He was helpless.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

A sob wrenched it's way from Sam's body as he sat in that old metal chair that had held the likes of the King of Hell. ‘This isn't real…’ he rocked himself back and forth as he pressed hard into that old scar on his hand that had saved his sanity once before. There was no relief to be had this time. Sam almost melted from the chair onto his knees. He prayed. Prayed to the gods, to the angels, to the demons, to anyone who could ease the anguish.  
‘Take me!’ He screamed into the void. ‘Give them back to him… please. He won't survive this!’ Sam looked up at the sky and stretched his arms out wide, ‘I didn't tell them! I didn't protect them! It's my fault! Please, please, take me instead…’  
His prayer was cut off by a choked sob. Forehead falling to that stained concrete floor, he prostrated himself in hopeful sacrifice. A flutter of wings sounded to his right. Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Go and find your brother, Sam. You are the only one who has the power to help him,’ Cas smiled his sad smile, the one that made creases appear around his eyes and the edges of his nostrils turn up. ‘You know where he is.’

And just like that, Sam did know where Dean was. He tore through the bunker, racing the demons surging within him. Launching himself through the door to the garage that had been slammed in his face not too long ago, he straddled the ancient motorcycle nearest the door. He turned the key and it leapt to life. Of course it did. Dean treated these old hulks like they were family. He silently thanked his brother and sped through the ruined garage doors, destination in mind. 

Sam wasn't surprised by what he found down that long and winding dirt road to their house. The house that was supposed to be their happy ending. There sat Dean's Impala, the most constant thing in their war-torn life. Of course she was here, Sam knew she would be, reflecting all the colors of the fire off of her shiny black hood. He shut the engine of his borrowed bike down and looked around the little clearing where the house sat, desperately trying to find his brother's form. There. There he was. Cradled against the trunk of the big oak in the front yard, beer in hand, watching the house burn. 

Dean was just staring at it, bottle dangling between two fingers, arms resting on his knees. Sam approached cautiously, silently, but of course his brother knew he was there. He crouched his lanky body down, shoulder to shoulder, giving what comfort he could with his presence. They sat that way for a long while before Dean finally spoke, ‘They're in Heaven,’ he took a pull from his beer. He didn't look at Sam. ‘Cas showed me. They're...they're...happy…’  
Sam looked at his brother, then. ‘They're happy… and…’ his gaze fell down to the dying grass between his feet. ‘They're happy without us, Sam…’ the bottle slipped from his grasp, unfinished beer soaking the grass between his feet, and those green eyes finally looked up at Sam. They held the grief of a million worlds. Of all the broken hopes and dreams that Dean had ever allowed himself to wish for. It felt like knives, that gaze. Felt like a hundred Lucifers torturing him in Hell. But Cas’s words were with Sam. He could help. So, he did something that he had never done before. Something he had always wanted to do, needed to do, but that his pig headed, macho, independent brother had never allowed. He wanted to do it when Dad died. When Dean came back from Hell. When they lost Bobby. And Charlie. And Kevin. And Cas. He looked into the eyes of the one person who had always been there for him. Who had saved him time and time again. Who had damned his own soul to hell and killed fucking Death for him. Sam smiled a sad smile and opened his arms for the brother who meant every damn thing to him. There was a shift in Dean's expression, because yes, this was exactly what he needed. Release. And he fell into his brother's arms, tears soaking the olive drab canvas. Sam held the man who had raised him, proud to be the rock that he needed. And when it was all over and Dean had shed all of the tears that he needed to, they sat there, shoulder to shoulder, and they watched that fucking house burn.


End file.
